We All Fall Down
by memory is strange
Summary: Just when they thought things couldn't get any more complicated at the BAU, Hotch hires a young woman to nanny for Jack, bringing with her all sorts of trouble. Reid/OC, Hotch/JJ


Disclaimer: I do not own/am not associated with _Criminal Minds _or its affiliates; this is for fun and practice, alone.

We All Fall Down:

Allison rubbed her sweaty palms anxiously against the wool of her gray dress pants, trying to keep her breathing measured and even. She'd been on interviews before in her life—several in the past few weeks, in fact, as she tried to find the best situation to fit her needs and schedule—but this one was particularly taxing. As if being judged one-on-one based solely on a sheet of paper and how charming you can be (and admittedly, she wasn't naturally overly charming at first impressions) wasn't nerve-wracking enough, this interview was in a restricted space. She'd had to show her license, passport (which she happened to have, luckily), and social security card at multiple checkpoints on the drive in, and had to submit to a pat-down when she finally arrived at the right building. The funniest part of it, when they got right down to it, was that she was five foot two and all of ninety-two pounds and her purse was, actually, a clutch, and was too small to fit her wallet and phone together, let alone a gun or something.

But all of that was fine. As far as she was concerned, just because their father worked for the FBI didn't mean the kid(s) didn't deserve to be taken care of. How often would she really have to go through that anyway if she took the job? Probably rarely.

Allison secured her clutch under her arm as she stepped out onto the sixth floor, glancing down to make sure that her visitor's pass was still clipped to the pocket of her white button-down. The floor was bustling, agents and technicians, she supposed, going about their daily routines in order to…umm…do whatever it was that FBI agents and technicians did, exactly. She wasn't really sure how reliable her only sources of information (that is, movies, books, and television) were, and didn't want to create a stereotype too soon. She always tried to be fair and give everyone the benefit of the doubt, no matter how difficult it was.

Allison moved cautiously forward, uncertain as to where she was actually trying to go. She only had the building name, the floor number, and a name to go off of—no office number.

"Are you lost?" Came a smooth-as-velvet voice from behind her, and Allison, spinning on her heel, turned to face two men: one, the one she assumed had spoken, was tall (then again, who wasn't when compared to her?), muscular, and probably a ladies' man, if his tone was anything to go by. The other, younger, even taller, but lean with longish brown hair and a messenger bag, was probably not. "We'd love to help you get where you're going, wouldn't we, Reid?"

The man called "Reid" blushed slightly, glancing down at his oxfords before looking to Allison again, ignoring his friend. "Can we help you, miss?"

"Um, yes, actually, you probably can. I'm looking for Aaron Hotchner? I have an interview with him in—oh, two minutes ago. Security's pretty tight around here, isn't it?"

"Hotch?" Reid asked, sharing a look with his friend. "Yeah, he's right this way," he added, and started to lead her to a room filled with even more hustle and bustle, the agents at their desks doing—or choosing not to do—paperwork.

"Are you a profiler, then? I'm SSA Derek Morgan, by the way," the ladies' man said, walking with her, slipping his arm around her shoulders familiarly.

"Allison Abrams. Am I a what?" She asked, looking up at him, and choosing not to remove his arm.

"I guess that answered my question," Morgan answered, and, seemingly losing interest, turned away and headed toward a desk.

"Did I say something?" Allison asked, jogging slightly to catch up with Reid, who was mounting some stairs.

"No, you're fine, Ms. Abrams. Morgan was utilizing flirtation as a way to determine if your interview was related to our team in the Behavioral Analysis Unit, but since you didn't know what a profiler was he felt secure that the team would not be going through any more changes at the moment."

"Oh…right. So, what_ is_ a profiler?"

"This is Hotch's office," Reid said, knocking on the open door and sticking his head into said office, where Hotch and Rossi were talking. "Sorry to interrupt, Hotch, but there's an Allison Abrams here for you? Says she has an interview?"

Hotch glanced at the wall clock, comparing it with the watch on his wrist.

"Tell her tardiness does not exactly reflect well in interviews," Hotch said, and Rossi, behind a hand, chuckled.

"Reid, why don't we get out of their way and let them get down to business?" Rossi suggested. Reid looked back at Allison, who had gone slightly pale at Hotch's comment.

"Good idea, Dave. And good luck, Allison."

Rossi, on his way by, squeezed her shoulder encouragingly.

"You'll be fine, kid."

She forced a polite smile, which collapsed when Agent Hotchner said, "Ms. Abrams, please shut the door on your way in."

"Yes, sir," Allison said, shutting the door and stepping into the office. He hadn't yet looked up from his paperwork, which allowed Allison a chance to survey him. He looked to be in his late forties, but Allison thought that the stress of such a job must age a person prematurely, and pegged him at, the oldest, forty-five. He was handsome, but clearly stern, an all-business sort of guy. And considering why she was here in the first place, she thought that he must spend more time on his career than he did on his family, whether by choice or not, she could not yet determine. But, to be fair, all she had to go on so far was the past minute, and the interview hadn't even really started yet.

Finally, after letting her sweat, Hotch put down his pen and sat up.

"You were late?" he asked.

"Yes, sir. I arrived at the complex twenty minutes early, actually, but I guess I didn't predict how long getting through all of the levels of security would take me. I'm sorry to keep you waiting."

"Yes, well, I could have prepared you better, as well. Don't think of it again." He stood up and stepped around the desk to introduce himself properly. "I'm SSA Aaron Hotchner. I run a team of profilers for the BAU. Welcome, I'm glad you could come by on such short notice. My job doesn't really lend itself to predictability, so when I knew I would have the rest of the day in the office, I had to try to get you in."

"Allison Abrams, and it's a pleasure."

"Have a seat, Ms. Abrams," Hotchner invited, and as he turned to his chair once more, he noticed that the team had their eyes glued to his office. He had to hide his smirk at their curiosity. Taking his seat, he surveyed the young woman in front of him. She sat, quite poised, with her back straight, not leaning against the back of the chair, hands folded over her purse in her lap, and ankles crossed beneath her chair. She was dressed professionally, but still casually—a loose-ish white button-down tucked into gray dress pants that might have belonged to a man were they not tailored so perfectly to her petite frame. Her long dark hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders, and her makeup was natural looking, save for the bright red lipstick. He thought the lipstick, along with her high heels, were the way she compromised with herself in order to bring out a bit of her personality in an otherwise toned-down outfit. The overall effect was of confidence, and Hotch respected that; particularly since she was only—here, he glanced at her c.v. on his desk—twenty-four, though he would have pegged her at twenty-three.

This was one of the pitfalls of interviewing with a profiler, Allison would soon learn. Profiling became second nature, and Hotch was one of the best. He probably knew more about Allison in the first thirty seconds of surveying her than she would purposefully reveal in the entire interview.

"Before we get into any specifics about my situation, I was hoping we could do a more general kind of get-to-know-you interview. As I'm sure you understand, confidentiality is extremely important in my line of work, and, in this situation, it would work both ways."

"Of course, sir."

"So, that brings us to the question I hate above all others in interviews: can you tell me a little bit about yourself?"

Allison permitted herself a slight giggle at Agent Hotchner—he could, apparently, be more easygoing. She was glad she'd reserved judgment, and hoped he would, too.

"That _is_ a tough one, but I'm getting pretty good at it. Well. I'm Allison, as you know. I'm twenty-four, and currently working on my Master's Thesis in English Literature at Georgetown over in DC. I'm a graduate assistant there, so I teach freshman English one day a week. I'm hoping, within the next few years, to begin my doctorate and eventually be a professor, but honestly the market is so tight right now, I'm not really in any hurry. I completed my undergraduate work at Cornell, in English and Early Childhood Education—I'm licensed to teach through fifth grade, but obviously the more I study and read in any subject the more prepared I am for teaching higher levels. I grew up in a small town outside of Syracuse. My mom, Holly, died when I was eighteen; my dad, Mitchell, is alive and well and works as an engineer. I have a younger brother, Gray, who's studying film at NYU. I love kids…I've done a lot of babysitting and I worked in a daycare in Ithaca for three years."

Agent Hotchner gave a slow nod, comparing her statements with her c.v. on his desk.

"Good. That covers the basics, and you're obviously qualified. What I'm wondering is, why haven't you pursued a teaching position? Why do you want to be a nanny?"

"That's a great question, one a lot of people ask. The answer's pretty simple: I don't want to teach elementary school in the long run. I want to be a university professor, and I think, if I got a position teaching second or third grade, it would be too easy to put off my own education even farther. It would be a comfortable job that I would probably enjoy, but my passion is literature and it's difficult to discuss Joyce or Faulkner with eight-year-olds. But I do love kids. All of my extracurriculars fell into the early childhood major, so with some hard work and an extra quarter I was able to get both. But being a nanny to a family would give me the flexibility and stability to complete my course work while still exercising skills and interests I acquired in my undergrad. I believe it will be more balanced to complete my thesis, and within a year or two, start my doctorate with a position as a nanny than to try to balance a course load plus teaching five days a week."

"I think that's a rational decision—you're making the best of both worlds; most people find difficulty in balancing just one part of their lives, and you've managed to balance two. It's impressive in one so young."

"Thank you, sir. I appreciate that."

"It's no problem. When I see good work, I compliment it; bad work gets corrected. No one will tell you I'm not direct. Now, what is it, since you've never actually nannied anyone before, though you've done everything but, that you're expecting from this position?"

"How do you mean, sir?"

"I mean, Ms. Abrams: you've applied for a specific position. What are you expecting from it?"

Allison wasn't sure in what manner he was placing her "expectations." Was this a money thing? Or was he testing to see what kind of nanny she would be?

"Well, sir, as you've said, I've never been a nanny before. But in my days as a babysitter, at the daycare, and in school, there have been three things that have stuck out to me when it comes to raising kids: Structure, education, and love. I would expect to be responsible for assuring the flourishment of those things within your children. I can provide a routine, since I am available almost twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, as I do teach, have office hours, and my own class on Wednesdays through the end of the semester. Meals, playtimes, homework, learning games, educational field trips, quality time…these are the kinds of things I think a nanny ought to, and I will, provide."

"Well, Ms. Abrams, all of this sounds very promising." Allison felt a tension that had been building in her chest loosen. "If I may, I'd like to describe my situation, and my expectations for the position."

"Of course, Agent Hotchner."

Hotchner took a picture frame from in front of his computer and looked at it for a long moment, before handing it, tentatively, to Allison across his desk. She took the picture from him gingerly, and gazed at the image. It was adorable. Agent Hotchner, in the image, had a wide grin alighting his dark features, easily taking ten years from him. He was gazing at a blonde-haired woman who was holding a little boy, maybe three or four years old, with his mom's sandy hair and his dad's brown eyes. Their smiles, it seemed, were contagious, as Allison grinned up at Hotchner, only to see his eyes were red.

"My ex-wife, Haley, and our son, Jack. This was taken on his third birthday. Since then Haley and I have divorced. She said she thought my job meant more to me than my family. Maybe she was right."

As an English major, Allison couldn't help but notice his choice of tenses.  
>"Was?" she rasped, her voice barely coming out.<p>

"Yes. Was. She was killed a few months ago. A murderer my team was trying to bring down got to her. Jack hid."

"Oh my God, he was there? Agent Hotchner, I…"

"You don't need to say anything. There's nothing to say. It's…there aren't words to describe it. But my point in telling you this is to make two things very clear: firstly, Jack has been through _a lot_ in his short life, and my job _does _keep me away a lot of the time. I need someone who can love him, and make him feel safe, someone who can raise him the right way and keep his mother's memory alive for him. Secondly: there is a level of danger that comes with associating with this team. And being Jack's nanny makes you, along with me, responsible for his safety. I cannot always be there when he needs me, no matter how much I wish I could be."

There was a long silence, the two just staring at each other, at the photo, the desk. Hotchner's words resonated in Allison's ears.

"Have I scared you off, Ms. Abrams? It's ok if I have, just please be honest. I'm only introducing a nanny to my son one time, so you cannot take the job and then quit a week later."

"You…I mean, you want to offer me the job, sir?"

"Should I not, Ms. Abrams? Do you not want to take it?"

"That's not what I meant, sir. I mean…look at me…" She said, gesturing unnecessarily at herself. Hotchner had been looking at her the entire time, and had no problem in doing so: she was very pretty, with long dark hair, wide blue eyes, and a perfect smile. She wouldn't be an eyesore, anyway, next to Jack all the time, at the very least.

"Yes, what's the problem, Ms. Abrams?"

"Sir, I would love to help Jack, he looks like a wonderful and an adorable kid, but I can't _protect_ him. Normally a woman would never reveal this, but I feel I must: I only weigh ninety-two pounds, ninety-five on a good day. The most I could do to protect Jack would be to stand in front of him, and I'm not even much of an obstacle."

Hotch gave her a long, steady stare, monitoring her expression for any sort of guile or deceit.

"That's your only concern with everything I've revealed, Ms. Abrams? That you couldn't protect Jack physically if you needed to?"

"Yes…what else should I be concerned about?"

Hotch couldn't help but chuckle. His ex-wife had been murdered with Jack there in the house by a killer his own team brought to their doorstep, and she was worried that all she'd be able to do would be to stand in the killer's way. She was perfect. "Well, Ms. Abrams, you're the twelfth applicant I've interviewed for this position, and the only one I've considered giving the position to. If we took some precautions, would you be more willing to accept it?"

Her face flushed prettily at his compliment, but, staying focused, she pressed, "Precautions, sir?"

"Yes. First of all, a background check, obviously. As long as everything checks out, which I'm sure it will, my team and I could provide you with self-defense training—one of our number is up for review, anyway, you could join him in brushing up. Jack could come with you, and it might make the transition a little easier for you both. Additionally, I would be interested in funding your attendance in a concealed carry course."

"Guns?" winced Allison. "You think that's necessary, sir? I don't really believe in guns."

"Well you'd better believe, because they're real," Hotchner quipped. "But, I wouldn't say _necessary_, but perhaps it's something you could consider. It might help to make you feel more secure when I'm out of town on a case."

Allison nodded slowly—he made a good point. When she didn't immediately answer, Hotchner felt compelled to add: "Your salary would be forty thousand a year, with room and board, obviously, as you'd stay with Jack in our home, and a personal credit card for any expenses the two of you might incur while I'm working or out of town. Additionally, for the days when you have school and I'm out of town or can't make it home in time, Haley's sister, Jessica, has expressed an interest in remaining a part of Jack's life. I'm certain we could arrange for her to watch him every Wednesday, even, until you've finished your thesis."

Allison's mouth had dropped open and she hadn't had the sense of mind to close it again.

"Forty thousand, sir?" she gasped. On top of her stipend, that would bring her overall income to over sixty thousand a year—and she was still a student!

"That's right, you probably have school loans to pay off. Would forty-five be better? That's, what…eight hundred and sixty-five dollars a week before taxes? I think I could probably get you covered on our medical and dental insurance, as well—they're more flexible with these things at my level, and you _would_ be assisting me greatly."

She thought she might choke. Was he serious?

"No, sir, you misunderstood. Forty thousand is too much, let alone…everything else you just said."

"Oh…you've surprised me again, Ms. Abrams. But we can discuss all of that later." Hotch grabbed the phone off of his desk and dialed a few numbers. Into the handset, he said, "Garcia? Hotch. Can you run a quick background check for me? Yeah, I've got her right here. Allison Abrams, A-B-R-A-M-S, yes. Take her prints and run her name and tell me what comes back." He hung up, and looked to Allison again. "She'll be right down. In the mean time, I'd like you to meet the team."

Still a little shell-shocked at how quickly things had happened (had she even actually accepted the position? Had he actually said the words to offer it to her?), Allison stood up to follow Agent Hotchner out of his office and into the desk area. There were five people there, waiting to meet them, but trying their best to look like they hadn't noticed their approach. Allison recognized two of the men as being the ones to give her directions earlier.

"Guys, could I have a second?" Agent Hotchner asked, drawing their attention; each of them feigned distraction for a moment before coming to cluster around him and Allison. "There's someone I'd like you to meet. This is Allison Abrams; pending a background check that Garcia will be performing—"

"Right now," came a voice from behind them, and Allison turned to see a brightly colored woman approaching them with an iPad in one hand, and a file folder in the other. "Got the info on Abrams, it's nice to meet you, by the way, I'm Penelope Garcia, Technical Analyst—and it's her, and she's clean, Hotch." She spoke rapidly, confidently, with a smile on her face, and shook Allison's hand with both of hers. She opened the case to her iPad, put in her passcode, and offered it to Allison. "If you could oblige me, Ms. Abrams, and place your fingers on the glass?" It was a fingerprint scanner application. Was there really an app for that?

"Does it matter which hand?" she asked, quietly, putting her clutch under one arm and holding both hands up in mock surrender.

"Start with the four fingers of your right hand, and when that's complete do the four fingers of your left, and then both thumbs," said the man who'd been called Reid before.

"You got it," Allison said, and did as instructed. Somehow, the fairly commonplace practice of fingerprinting for a job seemed extremely nerve-wracking with half a dozen FBI agents watching over her shoulder. Once she'd finished with her thumbs, Garcia pulled the iPad back toward herself and started tapping on it. Only a few moments had passed before she handed it to Hotch, smiling.

"Clean as a whistle!"

"Just as I expected," Hotchner said, giving Allison a nod. "Well, then, officially, I would like to introduce to all of you Allison Abrams. I've brought her in today to interview her as a nanny for Jack." The five members of the team shared a charged glance. "Allison, this is my team: Agent David Rossi, Agent Derek Morgan, Agent Jennifer Jareau, Agent Emily Prentiss, and Agent Dr. Spencer Reid." Allison shook each person's hand succinctly as they were introduced, making eye contact and memorizing each face and name.

"It's a pleasure to meet you all," she said, politely.

"Well, Hotch, I can see why you chose her," Morgan said, grinning. Obviously he was implying something, but Allison chose to ignore it. Hotch didn't.

"Because she's qualified, educated, hardworking, and young enough to keep up with a five-year-old?" Hotchner asked, giving him a look.

"Clearly," Morgan chuckled. "It's very nice to meet you, Allison. I'll look forward to seeing more of you in the future."

"You can count on it," Hotch said. "She's going to be doing training with Reid on Sundays, and _you've_ just volunteered to help."

"What? Hotch, I didn't mean—"

"No, Morgan, I think Hotch makes a good point. He wants to keep Jack safe, and it's a good idea if Allison knows how to defend herself. As far as physical prowess goes, you're pretty much our best foot. So we're putting you forward," Rossi smirked.

"Sir, I don't want to inconvenience anyone. I'm sure there's a self-defense course I could take in Georgetown…" Allison said, wrapping her arms around herself.

"It's fine, Allison. We could all use a refresher course, anyway. It will be a good team-building exercise."

"Pun intended," Garcia said, elbowing Hotch with a grin, and then dropping her arm and looking at the floor when Hotch's steady stare turned to her.

"Wait, we _all_?" JJ asked, dread coloring her tones.

"Yes. Be here Sunday morning, ten am, ready to work. I would do earlier, just to spite all of you, but Jack has a soccer game. Allison, I'll walk you to the elevator and we can work out a time for you and Jack to meet and to get your things moved in. The rest of you: get some rest. Good work this week."

Without further ado, Agent Hotchner led Allison toward the elevators with a hand on her back; for her part, Allison turned swiftly to wave at her new acquaintances, a slightly manic smile on her face.

"So, Ms. Abrams—"

"Feel free to call me Allison, or Allie, Agent Hotchner."

"Thank you, Allie. You can call me Aaron—or Hotch; that's what the team calls me." She grinned and nodded. They'd arrived at the elevators. "Allie: what are you thinking? Please be honest."

Allison felt her cheeks flush, and suddenly found her clutch to be very interesting. "I'm…I'm thinking that…this is a lot? And it's fast." Her voice was quiet, embarrassed. But Hotch appreciated it.

"You're absolutely right, Allie. It is a lot, and it's been quick. If you want to take a few days, think it over, feel free. They can start on Sunday without you. Like I said, I won't introduce someone to Jack who will just walk out of his life after a few weeks. That isn't what he needs right now. So if you decide to take the job, I want you to be absolutely sure."

"I respect that, Hotch. It's clear to me that you're trying to do everything you can to give Jack the right kind of life. And because of that, I…want to take a beat. Process. Is there a number I can call, or, um would an email address be better? I wouldn't want to interfere with your work."

Hotch gave her both, and made it clear she could contact him at any time, with any questions. But before letting her leave, he made himself ask the question to which he dreaded the answer: "If you don't mind my asking, Allie, what's causing you to hesitate? Specifically? Are you afraid?"

She averted his gaze again, but not to be deceptive. It was to not be offensive, he thought. She glanced past his shoulder where he was ninety-eight percent sure the team was watching them, and her cheeks flushed even further.

"I'm not afraid. It _is_ a lot to face in a job interview, I won't lie to you there. I've had other interviews in the past few weeks and been offered all of them, but this is the only one I've seriously considered taking. Jack is the kind of kid who deserves the extra attention a nanny can provide. The other parents want a nanny because they want someone to raise their children for them, because they don't want to be around. Your situation is the exact opposite. If there were two of you, Hotch, you would be in both places at once, wouldn't you? But you can't.

"At the same time, this job could be dangerous. Nannying is a responsibility that I take very seriously, but, sir, nannying Jack is _huge_. I mean, the responsibility is huge. And I want to be sure I can commit to it before I give you the green light."

Hotch nodded slowly, gazing steadily into her blue eyes. He hoped she decided to take the job. He thought she would be the perfect kind of role model for Jack: steady, responsible, smart, nurturing. And, like he said to Morgan, young enough to actually be able to keep up with him. And if there was one thing that was certain, he didn't think he'd be able to find a nanny of a reasonably young age who looked _less_ like Haley—Haley had been tall, with short blonde hair, green eyes, and a crooked smile that used to make his knees weak; Allie was petite with long brown hair, wide blue eyes, and bright red lipstick. Then again, Garcia was very different from Haley, too.

But she already had a job.

"I do not want to pressure you, Allie, but I would like to say this: my job makes me a very good reader of people, and if my opinion means anything, I hope you take the job. Jack would love you."

His goal had been to pressure her, a little bit, in hopes that she would accept and Jack's life might start being steady as soon as possible, but the blush he'd definitely achieved was worth it on its own.

"Thank you, Hotch. I'll will be in touch as soon as I've made my decision."

"I'll hold you to that, Allie. The minute you decide, whatever time, let me know."

"Even if it's three o clock in the morning?" she grinned.

"Absolutely. Would you like to me to walk you to your car?"

"No, thank you, sir. The sooner I can start to weigh the pros and cons, the sooner I'll have your answer." She reached her hand toward him and he shook it with his own stronger, larger one. "Geez, I don't know how I'm supposed to fight off a bad guy if he has a grip like yours," she muttered, and Hotch thought she might have voiced the crux of her anxiety.

"Well, if you've decided by then, I'll show you on Sunday. I can guarantee, by the time my team and I are finished with you, you'll be able to take down guys as big as Morgan without a weapon."

She giggled lightly, glancing over his shoulder at the team and then, with her hand in his, leaned forward. He met her halfway.

"You do realize that they've been watching us this entire time?" she said.

Hotch grinned, glancing at their still-joined hands. "I realize. They're a bit overprotective. And they probably know more about you than you do, by now, watching our behavior. It's hard to have privacy on a team of profilers."

"I guess that's another factor to consider…" she said, glancing down for the first time in minutes. Hotch's heart gave a weird twist: had he just ruined this?

Finally taking her hand back, Allie offered him a bright smile. "Thank you for considering me, Hotch. I'll let you know as soon as I can."

"I'll be waiting," he said, a certain gruffness returning to his voice and expression as he crossed him arms over his chest. He watched her enter the elevator with a few other people, and smile once more as the doors shut in front of her. After another beat of staring at the closed elevator doors, and feeling dismally that Jack's best hope at a normal life had just walked away from him, perhaps for good, Hotch turned back toward his team, who were watching him unabashedly. Rather than trying to put it off, he walked forward to face the onslaught of questions head-on.

"She really seems like a good fit, Hotch: no record at all, not even a speeding ticket, really good grades, her student evaluations are glowing…" Garcia said, flipping through the file she'd printed out for him.

"And did you see her?" Morgan grinned. "So _cute_ and little enough to fit in your pocket and carry with you everywhere. Pretty Boy over here was blushing the entire time!"

"I was not," Spencer groused, though his cheeks were definitely pinker than usual.

"You definitely were," Emily affirmed. "You didn't stop staring at her."

"Her features are almost perfectly symmetrical!" he defended himself. "That's not something you see everyday!"

"Did she take the job?" Rossi asked, leaning against a desk and crossing his ankles. "You seemed to really like her, Hotch."

"He sure did," JJ muttered, and Hotch couldn't help but glance at her, where she was trying very carefully to control her expression; it was the effort that gave her away.

"She's going to think about it and get in touch with me."

"You should have introduced her to Jack, Hotch. No one can say no to that face!" Garcia said.

"I didn't want to do that for two reasons: 1) she might be pressured, like you said, by saying yes to Jack, and not to the entire situation, and be in over her head or even resent him; or 2) what if she did say no to him? I don't want to add 'rejection' and 'abandonment' to the list of things Jack has to deal with."

They all nodded; it definitely made sense.

"So, does this mean we put off physical training until after she decides?" Morgan asked, hopefully.

"Nice try. Everyone here on Sunday morning. You're dismissed until then." The team turned toward their separate desks, muttering grouchily as they gathered their things for the early weekend. Hotch, too, turned toward his office, taking the file on Allie from Garcia—he'd have plenty of time to peruse it over the next few days while he and Jack waited anxiously for her call. He'd only gone a few steps before he realized someone in high heels was following him to his office.

Hotch proceeded to his desk and set the file down, grabbing his briefcase and filling it with things he'd need. JJ, for her part, followed him in, and shut the door behind her.

"You have something to say, I gather?" he said, voice low and eyes on his desk. He didn't want any eavesdroppers to hear, or lip-readers to translate; one could never be sure who was watching in the BAU, and Spencer had a lot of hidden talents.

She didn't approach the desk any further, making it to within a foot of the chair Allie had vacated.

"Yeah, I do," she whispered heatedly. "I can't believe of all the women who've walked in for that job, you offered it to the twenty-four-year-old _petite model_ whose hand you wouldn't drop!"

Hotch sighed, but otherwise did not show any reaction to her statement. "I'm starting to resent the fact that any of you would possibly think that I would put my own interests over my son's and choose someone based on how they look and not their qualifications."

"Hotch, Garcia and I made that list ourselves—every woman who has walked through this door is _qualified_ to take care of Jack. We almost didn't put Allison on it because of her school commitments, but it's her last semester. We thought she'd be the long shot!"

"Well I'm glad you did put her on the list, obviously, as I think she will be perfect. Jack will love her, and _he's _the one who matters."

"So I'm supposed to believe that having a beautiful, smart twenty-four-year-old _living in your apartment_ with you has absolutely _no_ bearing on the matter?" she accused, finally reaching the desk so she could whisper-yell as quietly as possible.

Hotch's mouth twisted in a grimace. He couldn't believe her. How dare she?

"That seems a little bit hypocritical, coming from you of all people, JJ."

She scoffed, but blushed. "I don't know what you mean."

"I know you do. Have you thought about why this might actually be bothering you? Because it isn't worry over what's best for Jack. You're worried, with Allie in the house every day being _so beautiful_, apparently, taking care of my son, I'll turn to her."

JJ couldn't stop the emotion from welling in her eyes, but she did not break eye contact with him.

"Would you, Hotch? Turn to her, instead?"

Hotch glared at her heartbreakingly beautiful face, feeling bitter.

"Maybe I should." He whispered, flipping Allie's file open to her license picture on the first page. "You're with Will, JJ. You have Henry to think about. You've made that clear. But I have Jack to consider. I have to do what's best for him, and Allie is what's best, if she'll have us." He closed Allie's file and threw it in the briefcase, half of the information slipping out of it. He snapped the case closed carelessly. Taking a deep breath, he finally looked up at JJ once more.

"You know things are complicated, Hotch. I'm trying to figure it out…it's just taking some time. You want time, too, remember?" she whispered, a pleading note in her voice. He felt like an asshole.

"JJ, it's fine. Let's look at the situation logically for a moment: you and I both need time. Allie might not even take the job, and if she does, I spend more time with you and the team than I do at home, anyway. Plus, like you said, she's twenty-four. She wouldn't give me a second glance, especially with Morgan and Reid and all of the guys at her school."

"But you could still glance at her, Hotch. It would make me crazy."

Grabbing his briefcase and heading for the door, he tossed one parting remark back at her: "Then that ought to make things easier for you, right?"


End file.
